


Occupational Hazards

by K_Hanna_Korossy



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 05:38:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5816266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Hanna_Korossy/pseuds/K_Hanna_Korossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ellison was supposed to be the one with the dangerous job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Occupational Hazards

 

First published in  _Sensory Overload 4_ (1999)

 

_Not a good day,_ Blair Sandburg thought, shaking his head as he went back to his office. The exam first thing that morning had been more of a killer than he anticipated--didn’t Professor Paternoster think they had any classes besides his? It hadn’t been ideal to put Blair in the mood to deal with two irate students during his office hours, either. He was already fresh out of sympathy that day for the plight of freshmen who didn’t study.

The crowning touch had been facing one of his own professors with proof of the man’s plagiarism, and that was not an experience Sandburg wanted to have again any time soon. Dr. Hefner was new to Rainier that year, and Blair had been excited to learn that the researcher had been in the field in some of the more obscure areas Blair himself had studied in, only to find upon reading that some of the man’s work was awfully familiar. Too familiar. It hadn’t been so surprising that Hefner had gotten away with it, seeing as his source materials were obscure, esoteric papers that few would have read without Blair’s specific interest. What _had_ been the real shock was that a distinguished researcher would stoop to plagiarizing at all.

Sandburg was honor-bound to report it, of course, but going to see Hefner first only seemed fair, and he’d maintained some hope that the man could somehow explain his actions. Instead, when the professor had begged him not to turn him in, there had been little question of what Blair had to do. It wasn’t something he was looking forward to, but then, it seemed par for the course that day. At least the visit with the dean could wait until the next morning.

The graduate student sighed as he struggled with the office door, muttering a curse at it. Not that, too--was everything conspiring against him that day? _Right, Sandburg, all inanimate objects have it in for you today. You’re getting as paranoid as--_

The door swung open suddenly, knocking him off-balance, but a hand grabbed his arm to steady him before he could even think about falling. Blair blinked up at his partner in surprise. “Jim! What are you doing here?”

Jim Ellison made sure he was righted before letting him go and stepping aside. “Good to see you, too. The truck’s in the shop, remember? Taggert dropped me off here so--”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, I forgot.” There was barely room for both of them in the glorified closet he called an office, but he slid in past the detective to dump his armful of books on the desk.

“Sure, we only talked about it this morning,” Jim’s voice sounded amused behind him. “That was, what, a whole eight hours ago?”

The books toppled all over the desk, some falling to the floor. Blair sighed. It figured. “Man, if you were having the day I’ve been having...”

“You okay?” The teasing vanished just like that.

Blair gave the books up as a lost cause and instead scooped a pile of student papers off the desk, stuffing them into his backpack for later grading. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said wearily. Nothing a new career wouldn’t cure.

“Listen, I can grab a cab home if you want to stay...”

The anthropologist turned at that, finally really looking at his partner. Jim was trying to give him space if he wanted it, offering to listen if he didn’t. Blair smiled for what felt like the first time that day. “No, I’m ready, I just wanna get out of here.” One last look around the office and, confident he had everything he needed, he followed the detective out the door, shutting it behind him.

Jim fell into easy step behind him. “What’s going on?” he asked casually.

Blair hadn’t thought he wanted to talk about it, but the invitation gave vent to his frustration and he found himself spilling out the details, seeing Jim nod occasionally out of the corner of his eye and feeling a little better for getting it all off his chest. It had been one of the unexpected pluses of moving in with the older man, having someone to come home to at night to share the good news and the bad with. And though he doubted Ellison would ever admit it, Blair had a feeling that Ellison felt the same way.

His rush of words continued all the way out the door and across the campus to the faculty lot. The part about Professor Hefner made Jim stop nodding and start frowning, but he was still listening attentively as they made their way around the occasional car to the Corvair sitting at the far end.

The fact that there were other cars in the lot was probably why Blair didn’t see it coming, that and being wrapped up in his tale. The harsh squeal of tires came only a half-second after he realized Jim wasn’t listening anymore, focused on something else.

And then the detective was in motion, shoving Blair aside, out of the path of the small red car that Sandburg saw careening toward them only that moment. Pushing him to safety.

Putting himself in harm’s way.

It was nearly over before Sandburg could process it. Jim had thrown himself after Blair, also trying to get out of the way, but there hadn’t been enough time. The car clipped his leg, sending him flying with far more momentum than was healthy to crash hard into the blacktop not far from Blair.

Sandburg stared in shock, frozen for a second into disbelieving immobility. Then crisis mode, picked up in far too many past hairy situations with Jim, asserted itself, and he craned after the disappearing car to catch the tag. It was in clear view, which meant either a really stupid criminal or a stolen car. Knowing Jim’s usual stock of enemies, the latter was likely, but Blair filed the number away automatically. And then, heart thudding hard with fear, he turned and scuttled back to his motionless partner.

“Jim!” Too still; Ellison was rarely that still, even in sleep. He lay on his side, arms and legs in the loose sprawl of unconsciousness. Closer up, Blair could see his chest move slightly with inhalation, and the anthropologist’s cold and shaky fingers found a strong beat easily enough under his friend’s chin. _God, thank you._ “Jim? C’mon, buddy, talk to me,” he tried again. Still nothing.  

He fumbled for his backpack, explaining what he was doing in rambling detail to his unconscious partner as if Ellison were in any shape to critique him. The cellphone Jim insisted he carry was at the bottom, and he dug it out and quickly dialed first 911, then Simon.

Emergency dispatch wanted to keep him on line and run him through some information and care instructions, but Blair already knew more than he’d ever wanted about first aid. Besides, he was anxious to put Simon on the track of the driver of the red car. Whoever was after Jim would probably not give up after one try. The captain’s steady voice didn’t do much to calm his nerves either, but it helped a little, particularly Simon’s promise to meet him at the hospital. Blair really didn’t want to do this alone, and in the late afternoon school parking lot there wasn’t even a gawker around to reassure him. He’d never before felt quite this scared or alone with his partner there next to him.

Speaking of which, he dropped the phone and leaned close to the motionless form. “Jim? You’re scarin’ me here, Jim.”

No response.    

Blair made a face. “Okay, I’ll be right back.” He scrambled to his feet and ran for his car, his trembling hands needing several tries to open the lock, but then he grabbed the blanket from the trunk and dashed back to his fallen partner. Keep the victim warm, he knew the drill. But, man, the drills didn’t tell you how to deal with it if the victim was a friend.

Blair spread the blanket over the detective with agitated care, then, momentarily lost, went on with his cursory examination. “It’s okay, Jim, just gonna check you out here,” he kept explaining as he went, just in case, somehow, something was getting through. Maybe sentinel hearing penetrated unconsciousness more easily, though Blair knew he was grasping for straws there.

The older man’s skin was cold but not clammy--the beginnings of shock, hopefully circumvented by the warmth of the blanket. Equal and reactive pupils. There was some blood, Sandburg swallowed hard at the discovery, at the back of Ellison’s head where it had struck the blacktop, but it only looked like a cut, and head injuries bled a lot. Even as everything happened in fast forward, Blair had still seen that the detective’s side and leg had taken the brunt of the impact, not his head. Whether that was good or not, he wasn’t sure.

Blair cringed. “S’okay, Jim, everything’s gonna be fine.” He patted his friend’s chest, its slow rise and fall the one obvious sign of life. “Ambulance’ll be here any moment.” Soon, too, he hoped, because he wasn’t the cop or a medic here, and how was he supposed to know what to do with a hit-and-run, and what if the little red car came back, or Jim took a turn for the worse...

_Deep breath. Don’t lose it now, man._ Blair shuddered once, then went on.

Ever so gently feeling along the limbs revealed nothing that felt broken, though the jeans along one leg was tattered, the skin scraped and swollen. It was times like this he fervently wished for sentinel touch for reasons far more compelling than curiosity, but that was a moot point now. He was only the Guide, and the Guide’s job was to look after the Sentinel. A little late for that, maybe, but he’d do what he could even so. An ambulance’s wail began to filter in from not too far away. “Jim...”

Ellison stirred.

Blair blinked at him. Did he imagine that? Maybe Jim was responding to the siren, or even to the desperation in his voice. He didn’t much care, as long as it was for real.  

The close-cropped head rolled against the pavement, and then the detective was wincing as he raised one hand to the back of his head where, no doubt, the pain was concentrated. The accompanying groan was music to one scared anthropologist’s ears.

Blair gasped, sucking in air in greedy relief. He grabbed Ellison’s hand before it reached the wound, laying it on his abdomen instead. “Jim? Can you hear me? Jim?”

“I hear you,” Jim grumbled. “Don’t yell, Sandburg.” He squinted his eyes open, looking around before staring at Blair. “What happened?”

Abruptly dizzy, Blair sat back on his heels hard. “You were hit by a car. How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been hit by a car.” Jim seemed oddly content to let Blair hang on to his one hand, but the other he used to brace himself against the blacktop, levering himself upright despite the anthropologist’s attempts to hold him down.

“Uh, Jim, I don’t think sitting up’s such a good idea right now. You were hit pretty hard and unconscious for a few minutes. We don’t know what you hurt; why don’t you let the paramed--”

“I’m okay.” But he didn’t seem to mind Sandburg’s help or support, and looked a little woozy at the change of elevation, pressing a hand against his side as he took a cautious deep breath. “Where’s the car?” he glanced around, wincing again at the movement.

Sandburg bit his tongue. The ambulance was turning into the upper end of the lot and Jim didn’t seem inclined to move any more than he had, so Blair just tucked the blanket around the older man’s shoulders and sat down next to him to give Jim something to lean against. “It’s gone--took off. I got the plate number and Simon’s checking it out.” He suddenly turned, studying Ellison with renewed intensity. “Are you sure you’re okay? You gave me a scare there.”

Jim was just noticing the blanket, and glanced at Blair. “My head hurts worse than that time you ran those high-volume hearing tests on me, and,” he grimaced as he shifted a little, “I think I banged up my leg up pretty good, but I’m fine, Chief.” He eyed the anthropology student. “You did a good job, partner, thanks. Looks like you did everything right.”

It almost sounded like pride in his voice. Blair was taken aback, flushing with the warmth in Jim’s voice. The detective wasn’t lavish with praise, but when he gave it, it really meant something. The tension that sang through his stiff muscles finally eased, making him feel as tired and unsteady as Jim looked. They made quite the pair, he thought with weary humor, watching the ambulance as it pulled up.

He reluctantly drew back to watch as the medics descended on Jim. The detective began arguing their concerns almost immediately, with a voice that strengthened by the minute. Little could have reassured his partner more. It was with a grin that Blair climbed into the back of the ambulance with the protesting patient and rode along to the hospital.

 

They kicked Blair out of the ER when it was time for x-rays, and that’s where Simon found him shortly thereafter, pacing the halls with newfound nervous energy.

“Sandburg, are you okay?” were the captain’s first words, grabbing the student’s shoulder to stop him long enough to talk to.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Simon. It was just Jim. He shoved me out of the way...” He shouldn’t have been surprised, not after all the times Jim had come to the rescue, sometimes at considerable risk to himself, but Blair was still awed by the thought.

“How is he?”

Banks’s question drew him back. “Uh, okay, I think.” He grinned tiredly. “Complaining about everything on the way in so that’s a good sign. They’re doing x-rays now.” Blair nodded toward the closed doors.

Simon took a deep breath. “That’s good. Now,” he pointed to the row of chairs that lined the hallway, “how about you sit down and tell me everything that happened from the beginning.”

Blair obeyed. As an anthropologist he was a trained observer, but being around Jim had honed him even further to be aware of his environment and to note the little details that often made the difference. He rattled off the whole chain of events, including the one that kept replaying in his mind, Jim hitting the ground so hard that it knocked the breath out of Sandburg. _He’s okay,_ Blair kept repeating to himself, sure that sooner or later he’d start believing it. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Blair?”

Simon’s voice, concerned. He forced his eyes open and plastered on a smile. “I’m okay, just still a little shook up, you know? I mean, we were this close to being street pizza thanks to that car...hey, did you get a name on the owner yet?” Blair looked hopefully at the captain.

Simon shifted in his seat, seeming rather uncomfortable, oddly enough. “Yeah, we did. Red ‘75 Datsun?”

“That’s the one,” Blair nodded enthusiastically, sitting up straighter. “You mean it wasn’t stolen? That’s great, then you should be able to find the guy! Who’s it registered to?”

The captain pulled a small notebook out of his coat pocket, consulting it. “Sandburg, do you know a Doctor Richard Hefner? He’s supposed to be a professor of anthropology at your school.”

“The car belongs to Doctor Hefner?” Blair stared at him. “But...” And suddenly the implication struck and if he hadn’t been already sitting, he’d have sagged into a chair. Hefner had been aware that no one else knew what Sandburg had discovered, and that the graduate student only planned to go to the dean the next day. Careers had been ruined--and people killed--over far less, but Blair had never expected Hefner would get as desperate or as low to even attempt...almost killing Jim?  

Simon knew, looking at his face, and waited patiently while Blair numbly stumbled through the story of his visit to Hefner. His mind was elsewhere, still trying to wrap itself around the fact that Jim had nearly gotten killed because of him, because of events he’d put into motion.

“Blair, there’s no way you could have known--”

The ER doors opened, drawing both men’s attention, to reveal a smiling nurse and a somewhat less cheerful wheelchair-bound Jim Ellison.

“Well, he cracked a few ribs on one side and he’s going to have to stay off that leg for a couple of days to let the abrasions heal,” the nurse said pleasantly, addressing herself to both Simon and Blair. “But he was lucky; he’s fine otherwise, and ready to go home.”

_“He_ is sitting right here and can talk for himself,” Jim protested sourly. “Sandburg, let’s go home.”

Blair couldn’t help grinning at the petulant tone, exchanging an amused glance with Simon before climbing to his feet. “Sure, man, whatever you say. Uh,” he glanced up at the pretty nurse, finding her name tag. “Miss Bender, I apologize for my partner, he’s not usually quite this charming--”

“Sandburg!”

He shrugged gamely at the nurse, who just smiled and shook her head before disappearing back into the ER.

Simon took a step nearer. “How’re you feeling, Jim?”

“Hey, Simon. Like I’ve been poked and prodded to death. I think the doctors were worse than that car.” Ellison shifted uncomfortably.

His words made Blair flinch with the reminder of Simon’s news, and he sank back into the chair. “Uh, Jim, that car...it was Hefner.”

“Hefner?” Jim frowned at him. “Who...wait, you mean that professor you were telling me about who plagiarized his work?”

Blair was nodding, only this side of miserable. “Yeah, he wasn’t trying to get you at all. He was after me, and you just, uh, got in the way.”

If he was expecting condemnation, he didn’t get any, Ellison only turning suddenly to the captain. “Simon, did you bring this guy in yet?”

“Rafe and Brown went out to pick him up. I don’t think they’ll have any trouble; the guy’s clearly an amateur.”

“Good,” Jim nodded. “If he missed the first time, he could go after Sandburg again.”

Blair followed the conversation back and forth with increasing confusion at the topic of concern. Jim had almost been run over by a guy who’d been after Blair, was sitting there stiff and bandaged up because of it, and all he could think about was Blair’s safety? “I don’t think Hefner would--” he tried weakly.

“You don’t know that,” Jim’s steel-eyed stare turned to pin him. It would have been daunting if Blair didn’t know that the Sentinel was going into full protector mode. Protecting him.

“I agree,” Simon added. “We’ll get this guy, Jim, don’t worry. You just go home and take it easy for a few days and I’ll call you when I have some news. Sandburg...?” He stepped aside, motioning down the hallway.

“Uh, yeah. Right.” Blair fumbled for the wheelchair handles, turning the chair toward the outer doors and ignoring Ellison’s muttered, ‘I hate this.’ _Okay, going home._ At least one of the officers at the site had been kind enough to bring Blair’s car to the hospital, a detail he’d sort of forgotten about. _Well, one thing at a time. I can do this._

“Sandburg?” the detective called over his shoulder as they began to move.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t run into anything.” There was definitely an undercurrent of mirth in the tired voice.

Blair groaned in response, but it was only half in jest.

 

He was thinking about it wrong, Blair decided on the way home. They’d been lucky, extremely so. Jim could have hit his head, broken something badly, been injured far more seriously than he had been, could even have died. Except, with that acknowledgment came renewed awareness, as if he could forget, that it was because of him that Jim had been in danger to begin with.

The trip passed in silence, Blair occupied with his thoughts and Jim half-dozing despite being a little cramped in the Corvair’s passenger seat. Which suited Blair just fine. What could you say to someone who’d almost been killed in your place, anyway? The whole thing felt surreal, mild-mannered Professor Hefner’s role in it making it even more so.

At the loft, Sandburg gave a silent word of thanks that there was a space in front of the building and pulled into it, then hurried around to Ellison’s side to give him a hand out.

“Sandburg, the leg’s not that bad, and they gave me crutches, remember?” Jim argued even as he leaned against Blair to get his balance.

“You ever try using crutches with cracked ribs? I don’t think even you can dial the pain down that much, Jim,” Blair answered patiently. He’d had experience dealing with an invalid Ellison before.

“Hmm,” was Jim’s only response. Blair grinned despite himself.

Getting upstairs was more of a challenge, but soon the detective was stretched out on the couch, his bad leg propped up on the armrest, remote in hand, and lines of pain easing from his face as he began to relax. Blair found himself starting to calm down a little, too. Maybes and what ifs still lurked in the background, but the here and now was that they were both safe and okay. And that was really what was most important, wasn’t it?

His hands still had a slight tremble to them as adrenaline worked itself out, and the room seemed cold despite the warm rays of the setting sun through the balcony doors. Blair pulled on a sweater and went into the kitchen to fix dinner, one ear tuned to the living room couch.

The phone rang, startling him into dropping an empty pot. He’d left the phone on the coffee table in arm’s reach, though, and he heard Jim grab it even through the pot’s clatter. The conversation was short and Blair didn’t try to listen, immersing himself in the complexity of putting water on to boil.

“Sandburg?”

Both the summons and its mild tone immediately attracted his attention, and he hurried out into the living room. “Yeah, Jim? You okay? Need anything?”

The faint amused cast to the blue eyes struck him, but it wasn’t mocking. Jim eased himself back up, waving away Sandburg’s solicitous hand as he gingerly eased his leg onto the coffee table. “That was Simon,” he said, looking back up at Blair. “They’ve arrested Hefner.”

“That’s good,” Blair nodded evenly, wiping his hands on the dishtowel he’d tucked into his jeans, hoping to disguise the shakes that suddenly seemed worse.

“He was waiting at home and started confessing to Rafe and H the minute they set foot in the door. Rafe says the professor wanted you to know he was sorry, said it about twenty times.” Ellison leaned back against the couch, his eyes on Blair.

The anthropologist sank into the nearby chair. “I don’t think he realized what he was doing or planned it ahead of time, Jim; Hefner’s always been kinda a decent guy. I guess he...saw his career going down the drain and just snapped.” The thought abruptly struck that he sounded like he was making excuses for the man who’d nearly run Ellison over, and he looked up, horrified, an explanation already on his lips.

But Jim was nodding agreement. “Yeah, maybe.” He grinned. “Didn’t realize you were in such a cutthroat field, Sandburg.”

Blair sat forward, clearing his throat. “About that, Jim--”

Again that almost gentle voice. “Chief, don’t even think about it. How many times have you gotten shot at or been taken hostage since you’ve been with me? Usually I’m the one putting you in danger.” Jim shrugged one-shouldered in deference to his ribs, suddenly seeming uncomfortable with what he wanted to say. “I’m glad I was there and you’ve got nothing to be sorry for. Got it?”

Simple as that. Sometimes Blair envied his roommate’s black-and-white views. “Yeah, but--”

“But nothing. You’re okay, I’m okay, that’s all that matters. Right?” This time Blair had no doubt about the emphasis on ‘you’re okay.’ It really was the way Jim preferred it.

“Yeah,” Blair said, meaning it more this time. It was still a little hard to fathom that someone had tried to kill him, but the knowledge that protecting Blair, even at risk to himself, was the way Jim wanted it regardless of the result was even more amazing. And going into harm’s way for the other did work both ways. It warmed him clear through that Jim saw it so.

“Say, Darwin,” Jim leaned toward him conspiratorially, “don’t you think the water’s cooked long enough? I don’t like mine well-done.”

Blair was sure he blushed at that, and the look he shot his partner was appropriately annoyed. But he was grinning more widely than Jim as he hurried back to the kitchen to fix them both dinner.

The End


End file.
